


Handle with Care

by UnshoddenShipper



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bickering, Cunnilingus, Light Bondage, M/M, Tenderness, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6880447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnshoddenShipper/pseuds/UnshoddenShipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pants, sprawling and high on.. Something. Fuck if he knew. He couldn’t remember the names of the hormones pumping in his brain at the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handle with Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CharlyImperial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlyImperial/gifts).



> i don’t even know anymore you guys.
> 
> (for my rp partner CharlyImperial, who is a peach and deserves better in all things.)

“Fuck, Simmons–”

“Hurry up! God, they’re gonna notice we’re gone!”

“So what? Oh no, what’re they going to do– knock on the door?” Grif’s leaning over the man from behind, burying three fingers between Simmons’ legs– but glances at the door anyway.

“Everybody around here is so fucking dense, they’ll probably just open it–”

“Well that’s the first and last time that'll happen, huh?”

“Shut up, and get moving.”

“I am moving!”

“Not enough! Put some back into it. What are you, 80?”

“Fuck off.”

Simmons is bent over on his knees, on a supply crate; 'HANDLE WITH CARE’ stenciled on the side and flipped the wrong way. Chest down, hips high, and you think he’d shut the hell up as Grif tries doing all kinds of shit back here. The more Grif’s gotta talk back, the less oral Simmons is gonna get– so that’s just poor planning on Dick’s part. 

Grif drops to his knees and honest-to-god laps his tongue's wet muscle on the lips of Dick’s sex, like licking a softserve. He keeps going until there's a groan for him– _atta boy, Simmons–_ and angles his head like he does when they kiss. Grif parts the labia with his tongue, getting a _fuck!_ for it.

Simmons pushes back against him as his outer lips are licked, Grif palming his tender inner thighs. Anticipation warms and tenses him up as Grif slides those fingers higher, ohh higher… spreading them all covered in saliva and his own slick. All of him is bared and open to Grif now and even as Simmons’ cheeks burn he grins; tucking his face in the crook of his arm as Grif groans hungrily, tongue lathing obscenely into him.

The closet is full of Simmons' breathy, choked noises. The wet sound effects.. Grif's eyes roll back. Teeth grit with eyes squeezed shut, Simmons wriggles around with a bowed spine that Grif strokes, hand wide and warm.

“Grif… Oh, fuck.. _Dex.”_

Grif goes right to his clit and _sucks,_ making the man hiss and slide his legs farther apart. Grif’s palming him immediately, rising to a crouch and lifting Simmons’ hips high. Holding him up, Grif tongues over the entrance to his body as Dick cries out, rutting on the hand digging against his clit.

“That good?” Grif knows the answer, grinning and panting. He drags his tongue, quick and rough all the way to Dick's tailbone. 

“Ugghh... I’ll kick your ass if you stop,” Simmons manages to croon that, somehow; back curved like a stretching cat.

“Duly noted.” Grif's legs are aching so he shifts, trying to get comfortable. He bumps a mop, sending it arching like a drama queen and crashing to wooden crates.

“Shit!” Simmons bolts up, craning to see over his shoulder.

“Relax! I got this, okay?” Grif eases him down. “I got this.”

“You’re gonna get the whole damn base over here with that shit.”

“I thought you were into that.”

“Wow. You’re running your mouth a lot for a guy who said he could get me off.”

Grif scoffs, grabbing handfuls of supple ass and comes in to eat him with gusto. Bossy.. fuckin’... He nibbles and suckles at all Simmons’ most sensitive, private place; licks him roughly, stubble getting wet and musky from his boy. Grif sucks the ruffles- pink inner labia, dewey and awesome- into his mouth and he-

“Grif!”

“Mmm- _hmmm.”_

“Oh, _god._ Oh my fucking _god.”_

Dex releases him and traces over his opening with his tongue, nudging inside. Simmons shivers as he takes his time inside.. before replying: “Nah, it’s just me,” and pushing back in.

“Are you-? I- shut up. I can’t fucking believe you sometimes.”

Ho-lee shit. Grif rolls his eyes, tongue still in Dick’s body before sliding out. 

“I’m not making fun of you, babe,” Grif leans up, giving him toothy, warm grin. Simmons frowns and wriggles impatiently.

Ah. Message received– he makes a pleased hum when Grif slips fingers back inside, moving them slowly. Simmons rolls his hips with it; lets Dex sink those thick fingers in and stroke, but he still seems miffed. Grif can sense it, like a Jedi.

“I’d never make fun of your sex noises," Grif murmurs.

"I’m nuts for those, you know that.”

Simmons pins him with a Look, raising an orange eyebrow over his shoulder. How Dick can always look like he’s making that face on a throne, as he’s gettin’ down with some fat Hawaiian dude, Grif will never know.

“Remember when I got you to cum in your armor over our radio channel?” Rich brings up suddenly, like it’ll re-establish his dominance or some shit.

“I don’t know, it’s easy to forget after the other five hundred times you’ve reminded me.”

“I just want you to remember the power I wield,” Simmons puffs proudly, rocking on Grif’s hand as he’s fingered and his clit massaged. “Me and my sex noises.”

Grif snorts, straightening up and sliding his fingers out of the man’s body. Dick turns to watch curiously as Dex pushes his pants to his thighs, takes a seat on the crate beside him, and pats his lap. Ah.

Obliging with his fucking pants still on too, because he is generous and impatient, Simmons stumbles off the surface only to maneuver onto Grif’s thighs; perching with his back to a broad, familiar chest. 

Grif nips his neck ungently, thick hands sliding up between Richard’s legs and Simmons lets them fall apart. Grif’s fingers help themselves, caressing, touching... he strokes the tenderest, most sensitive skin shy of his sex, so close it’s wet from under his orange curls.

“Oh,” Simmons shivers, moving his head to the side, and feels Grif grin stupidly against his neck before biting again, rough and blunt. Simmons shifts impatiently, getting twin gruff pinches to the skin before two fingers push in and– _fuck,_ he was hit with how wet he was.

“Are you ever gonna stop fucking teasing?”

“Why Simmons, are you asking for my dick?” Grif rocks his hand, fingering him deeply.

“No, I’m telling you for your dick. ..Wait. I fucked that up. I’m telling you to give me your dick.”

“Smooth.”

“Will you shut up? God, it’s like–” but Grif doesn’t let him finish, hefting him easily up with a grip on his waist and rubbing the head on Simmons’ clit.

“Like you.. Oh.. shit... ” Simmons croons and wiggles in his grasp, seeking out more and Grif’s breaths get heavier, working them together. 

“Rolling out the red carpet, huh?”

“Hng.. You’ve– gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“Come on, Simmons. You know that was good.”

“No, what’s good is me on you,” Dick shoots back. Then he second guesses himself, voice cracking. "Right? Won’t that.. won’t that feel good?”

“Mmm,” Grif hums happily. Dick helps grind himself on the hard, smooth cock, leaning back and wrapping an arm behind his head to hold Grif close. He presses them cheek-to-cheek.

“What’ll it feel like?” Simmons asks quietly.

“Soft," Grif murmurs back to him. “Warm... Coming home.”

“...Come here, Dex.”

The door handle makes a violent, loud rattle, _fuck!_ With a jolt Rich curls and twists to hide away against him, Grif gripping him close with a hammering heart.

 _‘...I told you so,’_ Simmons whispers, tossing a glare.

“Grif? You in there?” Agent ‘Bad Timing’ Washington’s voice comes through the door, rattling the knob again. The pair lose their startled tension, unwinding and turning back to each other. “I need to get the mop!”

Locking eyes, the pair begins working the rest of Simmons’ bottom layers off. Untying boots, slipping down wet boxers...

Grif makes his voice sound thick with sleep. "‘M taking a nap, Wash. Hit the road.”

Apparently done being teased and worked open, Simmons turns and straddles him. He unceremoniously lines them up, and all but drops himself on Grif; the tiny reluctance inside him gives way to it, both lovers making a hushed gasp.

Rich drops his head back and immediately starts bouncing. They’re pretty vocal at this point, under other circumstances– Grif sets his jaw. It's fucking _tough_ not making a peep.

It’s a trade-off: their noises help get each other off, but there’s an edge to this. With poor Wash feet away... Simmons unfolds, bowing his back as he’s filled in a rolling pace. Grif takes his nipple in his mouth, drawing on him hard, his lover willowy and arching.

“Will you at least unlock the door so I can get it? Or even better: drag you out of there and make you mop instead.”

“No way, dude.” Grif licks a stripe up Simmons’ bouncing breast, and the cyborg hand grips a fistful of Grif's hair to keep him there. Tongue lathing, Grif cocks an eyebrow up at him.

A tired sigh. “Have you seen Simmons?”

Dexter is suckling desperately; gripping Simmons' hips and thrusting into him as Simmons covers his own mouth and quivers.

“Nope!" Grif's voice pushes through the door. "Sure haven't!"

The quiet Simmons raises his head to beam at him, hair sticking up in weird places. He combs flesh and prosthetic fingers along Grif’s scalp. Dick likes the eye contact when they fuck, Grif thinks distantly– tethering, as they sink into this together. Just the pawing hands and dragging tongues and push of Grif in and out of Simmons’ sweating, shivery body. They rut hungrily in the _blessed_ quiet, finally, Wash must’ve hit the road. Grif hopes.

“More,” Simmons breathes in his ear, anchoring them with his nails and Grif’s thrusts bobbing him. A mewling, throaty croon comes from the man as Grif halts, huffing and puffing. Dex slowly gets to his feet off the crate, speared Simmons gripping legs around his hips. Turning carefully, Grif half-lies, half-guides him to his back on the wooden crate.

Simmons moans, sexier and softer than anybody else would ever hear, and Grif hums in answer. _I've got you._

Slowly, he slides his arms under Simmons, squishing them between his lover and the hard crate– so less of his back touches the roughness. Simmons makes a low noise in his throat, threading his fingers behind Grif’s neck as the cock inside him sinks deeper into sponginess; soft, warm belly pressing his.

“You good?” Grif asks, quietly.

“Just fuck me up,” Rich smiles like a dork, breathless, and lets his head fall back against the crate.

With a hungry groan, Grif starts slower than perhaps Simmons wanted. It’s a good, dependable pace; they use it often. Relishing the spread of Simmons around him as he breaches in, caressing and contracting on it; enough to make them shudder and groan but not spend themselves too quick. Though that was fun too.

“Goddamn, you’re wet,” Grif gasps, buried and rocking. “Feels so fucking good, Simmons.”

“I try,” Rich lounges happily, letting Grif do the work and have his way. He’s had a long day, and this is just right: relaxing as the other man gives and takes, pampering him as it happens. “Mmm, there. Oh, right there.”

Dex changes their angle, massaging the spot inside him with the blunt head of his cock, so Simmons’ jaw drops and he groans out loud.

“Yeah?” Grif smiles at him, an eager look in his eye. “You want some more of that?”

 _“Fuck_ yeah. Give it to me.”

Grif speeds up with short, hard thrusts, ramming hips as the sound of skin smacking skin fills the room. Simmons wiggles wonderfully, and starts up those needy little whines for cock– _his_ cock, as the shorter Red bucks.

“Fuck, fuck yeah-” Dex is rutting, rough and rhythmic and Simmons feels, _fuck,_ he feels everything, head back and mouth open.

 _'Oh~! Oh~!'_ Dick croons in time with his fucking, voice jumping with each jarring thrust from Grif- “It’s good, fuck Grif, it’s good… ohh don’t stop. Don’t stop!! _Don’t stop!!”_

 _“Agh! Nngh,_ I’m guh- gonna-”

 _“Do it,”_ Dick gasps, “Do it, show me you- you like it-”

“Yeah?” Dex pants, humping Dick into the arms under him with each push. “You want– wanna be used, Simmons? Want me to– take what I want?”

 _“Yes!_ Son of a bitch! _Please!”_

The Red locks up and for a breathless second, everything freezes. Then he’s gripping Simmons’ thigh, pumping, like an animal, gasping a hitching, guttural groan in his ear as Simmons squeezes their bodies flush. Rich feels the pulsating, buried deep; feels the familiar wetness of Grif spending himself between his legs. There's spilling as Grif slides to and fro, running warm and cooling fast down Dick’s skin. 

Simmons feels the other’s chest swell and fall. There’s a content, lyrical sigh; like Grif just found sweet relief. Dick tucks his face in the other man's neck, panting with him. Grif hums thickly, Simmons hums back with closed eyes... before comfortable quiet settles, as they hold each other, and breathe.

The closet is filled with the musky smell of their sex; the same that clings to their sheets, if you were to snuggle down into their bed. And steadily, Grif catches his breath.

"Holy Mary, mother of god, Simmons.”

“You’re not Catholic.”

“Hallelujah.”

Grif plants quiet kisses across his face; mostly around the corners of his mouth. Snorting, Simmons soaks it up happily; his kisses, his cum, his broad, safe arms keeping him comfortable in a fucking storage room...

“How can I get you there?” Grif murmurs against his neck, softly kissing random bits of him.

Eyes on the ceiling, Dick ponders his options. Well, he likes using Wide Legged Forward Fold from his yoga a lot (fuck off, it adds years to your life!)… But, sadly, they don’t have room for that in here.

“Umm. Could you..? I mean, if not that’s cool, we totally, don’t have to, I-”

“Simmons.”

“Just don’t, like it’s okay if– maybe, like if you think it’s gross–"

_“Simmons.”_

Simmons heaves a sigh, passing a hand over his face as Grif eases off and out of his body. 

“Can you tie me up?”

“That’s it? Shit, dude, we’ve done that like a–”

“And– and eat me out?” Simmons’ voice cracks nervously, red to the roots of his hair; peeking at Grif through spread fingers.

Grif blinks. “...Like, now? After.. yeah. Yeah, that’s cool.”

The ginger perks up, eye wide. “Seriously?”

“You got it, babe.” Grif rubs Simmons’ knee, and Simmons smiles.

"I’m totally down with that. What do we have around here..” Dexter, completely clothed with pants down and useless dick out, peers around the small room with hands on his hips. He stoops down.

“How ‘bout a sock.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Goddammit, Simmons, don’t be a bondage elitist!”

“I’m not being elitist!” Dick squawks defensively, legs spread out on the crate and propped on his elbows. “I think it’s perfectly normal and acceptable to want something classier than a fuckin’ sock, Grif!”

Grif sighs and groans in one noise, ‘cause now he has to _look_ and stuff… He fishes through one open crate, Dick watching with a huffy expression; then another, and in the second he finds paracord.

“Ehh?” Grif holds it up for inspection, pleased with himself.

Simmons squints critically at it from his perch, before relenting with a nod. “Much better. Thank you, Grif.”

“You’re welcome, Simmons.”

Scooting to the edge of the crate, Dick holds his wrists together before him as Grif returns. Holding them steady, Grif loops a figure 8 around his wrists a few times each; mindful not to pull it tight. He finishes with a shoestring-bow. “How’s that?”

Simmons shrugs. “Good enough, I guess.”

“You are so full of shit,” Dex deadpans at the smirk he’s sent. And the pair work together, easing Simmons to sprawl on his back again.

Grif hauls him up immediately again without warning, and Simmons groans in exasperation.

_“Ugghh!”_

“Zip it, dude. Hang on.” His partner strips his own shirt off quickly, and lies it out behind Simmons on the crate. There. Now, he helps ease Rich down for real.

Simmons shoots him a sly, loving look out of the corner of his eye. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and Grif winks at him.

In their room, they have a shitty metal ‘headboard’ that’s more like a handle for picking up and moving their equally shitty bed. It’s a good handle for kinky sex, too; but here, they’re devoid of an anchor. 

"Alright,” Grif guides Simmons’ hands up over his head, applying an affirming pressure. “Keep these here.”

“Yes, sir,” Simmons answers with pink cheeks. He's giving Grif those mismatched, bedroom eyes...

_Fuck._

Grif bends down and kisses him absolutely breathless- first thing’s first around here. It’s only when Simmons makes a deep, demanding groan against his mouth, tongue grinding with his, that Grif relents and pants. Gazing up at him, Simmons bites his own lip and bucks the air with a needy expression. Grif clasps hands on his hips, and pushes him down again.

Grif’s two fingers rub the pink bead high on his sex, quick and casual and Simmons moans lewdly for him, rolling his hips. Grif kneels on the floor, like he’s praying– and he might as well be, ‘cuz making love to Simmons is a religious experience. He’s probably going to hell for that. Grif's lips kiss on Richard’s clit, and one at a time, he’s spreading pale thighs apart with thick hands.

Simmons arches his back, and it’s on again.

“Grif! _Grif!!_ " And Simmons is crooning, making eager groans from his throat.

“You’re so whiny,” he growls against his slippery sex. “I love it.”

“Fuck! Dex! Oh god, Grif, please, I wanna cum..!”

Grif grunts an acknowledgement, dragging his tongue flat and wet along the seam where his lips part... lick, lick, lick... Spit, slick, salt. How obscene this is makes Simmons’ face burn and his clit throb, but Grif doesn’t even flinch at this idea, and shoves his tongue between the lips and oh _god_. Simmons makes a throaty grunt and there he is, Grif tonguing the opening he’d just fucked so nicely. He’s rough about it and Simmons groans from deep in his chest, spreading open for him as his whole sex is ravished, and slimy warm tongue dips into him, eating him out. Simmons wants to yank Grif's hair but keeps his bound wrists in place, spewing 'colorful', filthy encouragement with his mouth and humping against Grif’s face.

The thumb on his clit is relentless. He’s sweating, Grif’s groaning like he loves it, and Simmons gives a warbling wail. So much– so _much–!_ The edge pulls him over in a sweet, sweet rush of bliss and he’s toppling with a cry of: “P- _Pin me!”_

There’s something like a struggle, as Simmons writhes and Grif pins him firmly in place, taking his mouth off and using his fingers on his spasming clit– rubbing, panting on his sex, making it last.

“Let it come, baby, let it come–" and Simmons keens, arching against the broad arm that anchors him, almost sobbing at the stimulation as his peak drags on with each push.

“Oh.. _fuck,_ ” Richard grunts thickly. Finally, he oozes bonelessly against the crate. He pants, sprawling and high on.. Something. Fuck if he knew. He couldn’t remember the names of the hormones pumping in his brain at the moment.

"You're gorgeous."

Simmons snorts, raising his head. Grif's squishing a cheek on his thigh and Simmons shoots him a skeptical look. "Right now? I'm gross, Grif."

 _"You're_ gross?" Dexter's eyebrow arches. "Dude, I have my own jizz, on my face, and _you're_ gross. Gimme a break."

"Was it bad?"

"Nah."

"Okay." Simmons sighs, letting his eyes close and resting his head again.

Grif's eyes fall shut, too. He sits on the cold floor with Dick's leg as a pillow, and his slow breaths tickle his skin.


End file.
